


I Think It's Time That You and I Arranged a Heart-to-Heart

by Philosoferre



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Best Friends, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-26
Updated: 2016-10-26
Packaged: 2018-08-27 02:07:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8383681
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Philosoferre/pseuds/Philosoferre
Summary: “We need to have The Talk.”
Grantaire’s heart skipped a beat, “The Talk?”
Courfeyrac nodded solemnly, “The Talk.”
Oh, not The Talk. Not with Courfeyrac and Combeferre, of all people. Even Joly would be better.
“You mean The Talk your parents are supposed to give you?” Grantaire asked.
Courfeyrac rolled his eyes, “No. The Best Friend Talk™.”
-
Or, Enjolras and Grantaire both get The Talk.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't posted in a while, so here's some fluff.

Courfeyrac had a Serious Voice™. It wasn’t one you wanted used around you, because that meant, 90% of the time, that you did something very, very bad. Or deleted all of his recorded My Little Pony episodes. Either way, it wasn’t heartwarming.

 

It was on a fine Friday afternoon, when the Musain wasn’t particularly crowded, the tourists weren’t too hard to handle, and the sun was shining, that Grantaire found himself on the receiving end of Courfeyrac’s Serious Voice™.

 

“We need to talk.”

 

Grantaire almost fell out of his seat, startled by Courfeyrac’s sudden presence. He looked down at his once-beautiful sketch and frowned. There was now a rough, jagged pencil line right through Enjolras’ face.

 

“What about?” He asked.

 

He noticed Courfeyrac wasn’t wearing anything remotely related to a children’s show, or that was covered in excessive amounts of glitter. He didn’t know what to make of that.

 

“It concerns Enjolras.”

 

Grantaire blinked, “Okay?”

 

“Are you busy?”  


“Now?”

 

Courfeyrac nodded.

 

“Wait, you want to talk now?”

 

“Yes. Obviously.”

 

“Like, _now_ now? In the present?”

 

“ _Now_ now, Grantaire.”

 

“Uhh, yeah…umm, okay. Sure.”

 

Feeling unexplainably nervous, Grantaire followed Courfeyrac behind the bar and down the steps he knew led to the basement. He also knew that Musichetta made sure to never go down there, because, according to her, it was haunted.

 

He swore he saw the shadows on the staircase move. Maybe Musichetta was right.

 

The basement was a large, empty, concrete space. It looked (and smelled) like a dank, medieval dungeon, with its cement walls and floors, and no windows.  There was a single desk in the middle of the room, a chair on either side. The desk lamp was barely flickering, casting a dim, eerie light.

 

Grantaire almost yelped when the chair right in front of the staircase, that he hadn’t noticed before, suddenly turned around to reveal Combeferre.

 

“I’ve been expecting you,” Combeferre said.

 

Oh, well. So this was going to be James Bond- style. At least it wasn’t a horror movie.

 

(Grantaire had to keep reminding himself that. And look for the hidden cameras.)

 

“Take a seat,” Courfeyrac said, gesturing to one of the chairs.

 

Grantaire obeyed, but only because he wondered what kind of nightmare-ish monster would leap out at him if he didn’t. Eponine, perhaps?

 

Courfeyrac took the seat in front of him, and Combeferre pulled up his chair. They both leaned forward across the desk, eyes narrowed, hands clasped together, faces illuminated by the flickering desk lamp. And Grantaire thought living with Eponine was scary.

 

“So,” They spoke simultaneously.

 

“So,” Grantaire repeated.

 

Combeferre fixed his glasses (somehow, even that was menacing).

 

“We need to have The Talk.”

 

Grantaire’s heart skipped a beat, “The Talk?”

 

Courfeyrac nodded solemnly, “The Talk.”

 

Oh, not The Talk. Not with Courfeyrac and Combeferre, of all people. Even Joly would be better.

 

“You mean The Talk your parents are supposed to give you?” Grantaire asked.

 

Courfeyrac rolled his eyes, “No. The Best Friend Talk™.”

 

Oh.

 

Grantaire knew what they were up to.

 

The Best Friend Talk™.

 

“Okay,” He said.

 

Courfeyrac smiled, but instead of making him all warm and fuzzy, it reminded Grantaire of the Cheshire Cat.

 

“Where should I begin?”

 

-

 

Enjolras woke up and screamed. Not a stereotypical little girl scream, mind you. He was a man, and men didn’t scream like that. Except for Courfeyrac, but, well, he was a different story.

 

No, he screamed because Eponine Thenardier was sitting on the edge of his bed.

 

“Good morning,” She said.

 

As if this was the most normal thing ever.

 

“How the fuck did you get in my apartment?” Enjolras asked.

 

Eponine waved her hand in dismissal, “Oh, that’s a story for another time. Coffee?”

 

She held out a cup branded with the Musain logo to him, a smile creeping up on her face. Enjolras gingerly took the cup. He took a sip, and then immediately spat it back out all over his bed.

 

“What’s in this?” He asked.

 

Eponine took the cup back and lifted off the top, revealing a dark red liquid.

 

“You see this?”

 

Enjolras nodded slowly.

 

“That’ll be you, if you hurt Grantaire.”

 

“You’ll turn me into coffee…?”

 

Eponine blinked, as if he was the one who wasn’t making sense.

 

“Does this look like coffee to you?”

 

Well, it did remind him of blood. No wonder.

 

“That’s very comforting,” he said, voice small.

 

Eponine looked pleased with herself, and put the lid back on the ‘coffee’.

 

“I’m being serious, Enjolras. If you hurt Grantaire, I’ll slit your throat and drain your blood into a coffee cup. My boyfriend’s a criminal.”

 

Enjolras laughed nervously, “Yeah, I figured you were serious.”

 

Oh, how Enjolras missed waking up to birds chirping and real coffee waiting for him.

 

-

 

“If you hurt him, we’ll hurt you,” Courfeyrac said.

 

Combeferre smiled, “I have access to surgical tools.”

 

Grantaire looked down at the desk.

 

“I won’t hurt him, I promise. You know me.”

 

Courfeyrac leaned forward even further, eyes narrowed.

 

“Do we, Grantaire? Do we _really_ know you?”

 

“I…I should hope so. We’ve been friends for, like, five years.”

 

“But neither of us have been in a relationship with you,” Combeferre added.

 

“You’re not my type.”

 

Courfeyrac fisted his hand in Grantaire’s shirt. Grantaire had never been so scared in his entire life (Eponine didn’t count, he was so used to her).

 

“But, really. If you hurt Enjolras, even if it’s something small, you’re dead. We’ve got Jehan on our side.”

 

“That’s unfair. Jehan knows how to hide bodies.”

 

“Exactly.”

 

-

 

The minute Grantaire was free from the basement, he went back to the Musain. He spotted Enjolras walking in, and ran up to him, enveloping him in a hug.

 

“I’m never going to hurt you,” He whispered fiercely.

 

“Me too,” Enjolras replied, face buried in his shoulder.

 

“Your friends are scary.”

 

Enjolras shivered, “Eponine’s a walking nightmare.”  


“Tell me about it. I live with her.”

 

Enjolras shivered again. Grantaire briefly wondered what Eponine had done to him.

 

“Coffee?” He asked.

 

“Noooo,” Enjolras said quickly.

 

Grantaire wasn’t even going to ask.

 

“Suit yourself.”  


Grantaire went up to the counter, Enjolras refusing to leave his side, and waited until a barista came up.

 

It was Eponine.

 

“Hi, boys. Coffee?”

 

Enjolras ran out of the Musain.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Never trust coffee from Eponine. :)   
> Comments and kudos are always appreciated. <3


End file.
